Lucy Baker’s doorbell hardly ever rang in the evening; certainly never after nine o’clock on a Friday night. If it wasn’t bad news, she wondered what else anyone could possibly want with her at such an hour. She clutched the terry-cloth robe tightly to her throat, padded barefoot to the door, and squinted through the peephole.
Distorted by the fish-eye lens, a funhouse image of Steve Forrester bearing a bouquet of flowers and a brown paper bag grinned foolishly back at her.
“Steve!” she cried, unlatching the chain and opening the door. “I never expected … what are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d drop in.” He paused, the grin beginning to fade. “Actually, I wasn’t in the neighborhood at all. The truth is, I drove all the way out here because I just wanted to see you again. Especially now. Now that it’s over, I mean.”
“What’s over?”
“Well, Droopy and his pals in the association have knuckled under to the extortionists. They paid up. So, all threats are presumably off, although Frank Marshall isn’t convinced yet. In fact, he’s still at DefCon One around the hotels. Maybe an overreaction, I dunno, but he’s not backing off until they get Malloy. Anyhow, I kinda hoped you might want to help me celebrate.” He presented the flowers, a bouquet of lilacs and tiger lilies, with a flourish and extracted a bottle of champagne and two glasses from the bag. Donning his best orphan-on-the-doorstep expression, he added, “But to prove how pure my heart is, even if you don’t let me in, you get to keep the flowers and the bubbly.”
She laughed, and Forrester’s heart melted at the music of it. “All right, wiseguy,” she said lightly. “I guess I can’t very well turf you out now. Come on in. But you’d better behave yourself.”
Like a breaching silver whale, the boom box exploded from the bottom of the gully in a great shower of sagebrush, sand, and stones. As it rose from its gritty blind and breasted the rim of the depression, a pair of brilliant headlights pierced the velvet desert sky at a steep upward angle, gradually returning to horizontal as the huge vehicle found level ground.
Behind the wheel, a grim-faced Buster Malloy accelerated recklessly over the rough terrain, scattering rocks and sagebrush along the way and creating an extended dust cloud that hung motionlessly behind him in the still night air.
Five miles to the dirt road that led back to U.S. 93.
After that, if he obeyed the speed limit, it was less than an hour and a half to the Strip.
Lucy squinched her eyes shut and covered her ears against the forthcoming pop as Steve expertly thumbed the cork out of the champagne bottle.
Standing in the middle of her living room, he in a dark business suit and she in a fluffy white terry-cloth robe, Forrester filled the two glasses and they clinked a toast.
“To peace in the valley,” he said solemnly, looking down into her eyes.
“Peace in the valley,” she echoed, looking up into his.
“All’s well that ends well,” he added.
“Is that it for the clichés?” she asked.
“I guess. Look, do you mind if I sit down? It’s been a long day.”
“Sure. Give me your jacket.” She hung it on the coat-tree in the tiny vestibule and joined him on the overstuffed Ethan Allen couch. “And to think, my big plans for tonight were to take a shower and wash my hair.”
“Sounds fascinating. If you need anybody to scrub your back …”
“Hey—you promised to behave.”
“Just kidding.” He refilled their glasses. “But seriously, I am sorry about the other night. Was it something I said?”
She put her glass down on the musket-box coffee table and bit her lip. “No, it was me. I was a real bitch. It’s just that … well, frankly, I was a little bit scared. Scared of getting too close to someone again … and maybe … getting hurt. That’s why I kind of … pushed you away.”
“Let me guess. Does it have anything to do with that … cruise ship affair you mentioned when we had dinner in the Zodiac Room?”
Of course it does, she thought. It has everything to do with that.
“I don’t know what happened then,” he said. “Maybe I never will; that’s up to you. But this is now, and I can tell you one thing. There’s just no way I could ever … do anything to hurt you. Because, quite frankly, Lucy Baker, I can’t help it … I’ve got feelings for you … like I never had before.”
“Damn. That’s what I was afraid of.”
“You mean … you don’t feel the same way? Not even a little bit?”
“That’s just the trouble: I do.” She lowered her eyes. “Believe it or not, I really do. And yet …”
This was the moment she’d been dreading—yet wanting so desperately. Was this the time to abandon her reservations at last, to release the emotions that had been repressed for so long? Funny how it suddenly felt so right … .
He drew her closer, and she responded, timidly at first. He kissed her lightly, then more and more deeply. She trembled a little, still nervous, still unsure of herself. Yet he could feel her body responding, feel her yielding to the passion. He exulted in the softness of her lips, the eagerness of her supple body, the sweet young scent of her.
She was wearing nothing but a terry bathrobe, belted loosely around the waist, and his arousal was enhanced by a clear view of her wonderful pink breasts as the robe slipped open a little. “You know,” he whispered. “That offer still stands.”
“What offer, Steve?” she breathed.
“Scrubbing your back.”
She blushed and rose from the couch, gently pulling him to his feet.
He reached down and loosened her belt. Shyly, she shrugged off the robe; it slipped unnoticed to the floor. This is right, she said to herself, really believing it now. This is the time, this is the man.
Forrester shrugged off his shirt; she admired the flat stomach and well-defined pecs, lightly strewn with salt-and-pepper chest hair. She unbuckled his belt, and he stepped out of his pants.
Hand in hand, they walked into the bathroom and across the tiled floor to their watery tryst.
Under the warm spray, they started slowly, savoring the closeness. He soaped her all over, enjoying the smooth, slippery perfection of her firm skin. She washed his hair and gently massaged his shoulders. Kneeling at his feet, she delicately pleasured his throbbing member, sliding her fingers up and down until Steve could stand it no longer.
He put his arms around her slim waist and lifted her easily off the tiled floor of the shower, lowering her tenderly onto his stiffness. She twined her legs around him, and he covered her wet hair with soapy kisses as their glistening bodies danced and pulsated in a steamy embrace.
Eagerly, Lucy clutched Steve closer to her, pulling him, forcing him deeper inside her with every thrust. The intense sensation of the rhythmic pulsing and the warmth of the shower pushed Forrester over the edge quickly. As he released, he let out a wild cry and his legs buckled, almost landing the two of them on the tiled floor.
Luckily, Lucy’s apartment had the dual advantages of thick walls and discreet neighbors.